My Dearest Doctor

Ah, you would have been shocked at the ideas that formed in my mind of what might have passed between our two bodies! The dance of passion we might have shared, had either of us been available. But part of what made you so attractive to me was the fact that you loved your family so. The warmth in your voice when you spoke of your children and showed me pictures of them warmed me too.

I started to feel a little flutter whenever I heard your voice or turned around and found you near me. That flutter took up residence in me and built into heat. Every time you leaned over to do something on a lower shelf, showing me just the form of your high tight buttocks, my fingers ached to slide down there and tease your flesh. I was sure that you ran in your spare time. But even the little bald spot at the back of your head warmed my heart and made me smile. I wanted to stroke my fingers over your head.

God forgive me, I had to know whether you felt the same as I, so that wintry night, I stopped in the break room and released my hair from the bondage of the snare that held it high and out of the way throughout the day. I shook it loose and combed my fingers through the long, dark locks. I applied a gloss to my lips and just the hint of eye make-up then pulled on a thick sweater and came out.

I am ashamed that I was so gratified at your response, the way your eyes moved past me as if you didn't recognize me and then flew back to look at me.

"Well, goodnight," I said and smiled as I walked past and out into the cold night. I was warm at the memory then warmed by the shame of what I had done. I resolved never to take my hair down in your presence again. I had my answer.

I was sure now that you were as attracted to me as I was to you. But neither of us would ever act on it. You wouldn't be the man I knew you to be if you did, and I believed too strongly in the sisterhood of women. I would never go after another woman's man.

As the months passed and we worked together, this attraction seemed to deepen into something more, the warmth when we worked together, the smile when you greeted me. It said something more than lust. I love you. I think you know this and I think you felt the same way. It snuck up on us, while we laughed and talked about books, or argued about music as we worked together.

Love, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really change anything. People think that it will make everything work out. The movies have deceived us of that fact, but it simply isn't true. It exists independent of our responsibilities to spouses, to children, to our lives as they are when it arrives.

But it didn't stop me from fantasizing about you, about your long fingers as I watched you fill out a chart. I could just imagine those fingers threading through my hair as your lips pressed to mine. Lying in bed at night, I couldn't stop imagining how they would feel, sliding into my hair, as your mouth covered mine, moving so gently. I imagined sucking on your bottom lip and hearing you moan. What I wouldn't have given to hear you moan my name just once!

I simply couldn't go on that way. I had to end it in the only way I knew how. I found another job.

Then, your look when you realized it was my last night there was so shocked. You had to walk away, to master your thoughts and emotions. Later, the way you stumbled over your words as you tried to say good-bye, to let me know you cared, without saying too much.

An ache took up residence in my chest and sat there, slowly moving upward over the next few days until it became a lump in my throat, a sob that wouldn't tear loose. Finally it began to melt away.

I miss you.

And so I will never send this letter. You will never read these words but I don't think you need to in order to know what it says. I think it is written in your heart too.